Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours For one lone soul another lonely soul,Each choosing each through all the weary hours, And meeting strangely at one sudden goal,Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers, Into one beautiful and perfect whole;And lifes long night is ended, and the way Lies open onward to eternal day. Edwin ArnoldSomewhere There Waiteth.

Ask not of me, love, what is love?Ask what is good of God above;Ask of the great sun what is light;Ask what is darkness of the night;Ask sin of what may be forgiven;Ask what is happiness of heaven;Ask what is folly of the crowd;Ask what is fashion of the shroud;Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss;Ask of thyself what beauty is. BaileyFestus. Sc. A Party and Entertainment.

How many times do I love, again?Tell me how many beads there are In a silver chain Of evening rainUnravelled from the trembling mainAnd threading the eye of a yellow star:So many times do I love again. Thos. Lovell BeddoesHow Many Times.

Mein Herz ich will dich fragen, Was ist denn Liebe, sag?Zwei Seelen und ein Gedanke, Zwei Herzen und ein Schlag. My heart I fain would ask thee What then is Love? say on. Two souls and one thought only Two hearts that throb as one. Von Münch Bellinghausen (Friedrich Halm)Der Sohn der Wildniss. Act II. Trans. by W. H. Charlton. (Commended by author.) Popular trans. of the play is by Marie LovellIngomar the Barbarian. Two souls with but a single thought, / Two hearts that beat as one.

Love in a shower safe shelter took,In a rosy bower beside a brook,And winked and nodded with conscious prideTo his votaries drenched on the other side.Come hither, sweet maids, theres a bridge below,The toll-keeper, Hymen, will let you through.Come over the stream to me. BloomfieldGlee. St. 1.

I would not be a rose upon the wallA queen might stop at, near the palace-door,To say to a courtier, Pluck that rose for me,Its prettier than the rest. O Romney Leigh!Id rather far be trodden by his foot,Than lie in a great queens bosom. E. B. BrowningAurora Leigh. Bk. IV.

Who can fearToo many stars, though each in heaven shall roll Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?Say thou dost love me, love me, love metoll The silver iterance!only minding, Dear,To love me also in silence, with thy soul. E. B. BrowningSonnets from the Portuguese. Sonnet XXI.

Love has no thought of self!Love buys not with the ruthless usurers goldThe loathsome prostitution of a handWithout a heart! Love sacrifices all thingsTo bless the thing it loves! Bulwer-LyttonThe Lady of Lyons. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 23.

And this is that Homers golden chain, which reacheth down from heaven to earth, by which every creature is annexed, and depends on his Creator. BurtonAnatomy of Melancholy. Pt. III. Sec. 1. Memb. 1. Subsec. 7.

Mans love is of mans life a thing apart, Tis womans whole existence: man may rangeThe court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart, Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchangePride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange;Men have all these resources, we but one,To love again, and be again undone. ByronDon Juan. Canto I. St. 194.

He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires,Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires,As Old Time makes these decay,So his flames must waste away. Thos. CarewDisdain Returned.

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.Nescio: sed fieri sentio, et excrucior. I hate and I love. Why do I do so you perhaps ask. I cannot say; but I feel it to be so, and I am tormented accordingly. CatullusCarmina. LXXXV.

Vivunt in venerem frondes omnisque vicissimFelix arbor amat; mutant ad mutua palmæFdera. The leaves live but to love, and in all the lofty grove the happy trees love each his neighbor. ClaudianusDe Nuptiis Honorii et Mariæ. LXV.

Alas! they had been friends in youth;But whispering tongues can poison truth,And constancy lives in realms above;And life is thorny, and youth is vain;And to be wroth with one we loveDoth work like madness in the brain. ColeridgeChristabel. Pt. II.

I know not when the day shall be, I know not when our eyes may meet;What welcome you may give to me, Or will your words be sad or sweet,It may not be till years have passed, Till eyes are dim and tresses gray;The world is wide, but, love, at last, Our hands, our hearts, must meet some day. Hugh ConwaySome Day.

A mighty pain to love it is,And tis a pain that pain to miss;But, of all pains, the greatest painIs to love, but love in vain. Abraham CowleyTrans. of Anacreontic Odes. VII. Gold. (Anacreons authorship doubted.)

He who, being boldFor life to come, is false to the past sweetOf mortal life, hath killed the world above.For why to live again if not to meet?And why to meet if not to meet in love?And why in love if not in that dear love of old? Sydney DobellSonnet. To a Friend in Bereavement.

Give, you gods,Give to your boy, your Cæsar,The rattle of a globe to play withal,This gewgaw world, and put him cheaply off;Ill not be pleased with less than Cleopatra. DrydenAll for Love. Act II. Sc. 1.

The solid, solid universe Is pervious to Love;With bandaged eyes he never errs, Around, below, above. His blinding light He flingeth whiteOn Gods and Satans brood, And reconciles By mystic wilesThe evil and the good. EmersonCupido.

Venus, when her son was lost,Cried him up and down the coast,In hamlets, palaces, and parks,And told the truant by his marks,Golden curls, and quiver, and bow. EmersonInitial, Demoniac, and Celestial Love. St. 1.

Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight,Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but Lady Greensleeves?A new Courtly Sonnet of the Lady Greensleeves, to the new tune of Greensleeves. From A Handful of Pleasant Deities. (1584).

What a sweet reverence is that when a young man deems his mistress a little more than mortal and almost chides himself for longing to bring her close to his heart. HawthorneThe Marble Faun. Vol. II. Ch. XV.

There is a lady sweet and kind,Was never face so pleased my mind;I did but see her passing by,And yet I love her till I die. Ascribed to Herrick in the Scottish Students Song-Book. Found on back of leaf 53 of Popish Kingdome or reigne of Antichrist, in Latin verse by Thomas Naogeorgus, and Englished by Barnabe Googe. Printed 1570. See Notes and Queries. S. IX. X. 427. Lines from Elizabethan Song-books. Bullen. P. 31. Reprinted from Thomas Fords Music of Sundry Kinds. (1607).

Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be:Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee,A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and freeAs in the whole world thou canst find, That heart Ill give to thee. HerrickTo Anthea, who may command him anything. No. 268.

Let never man be bold enough to say,Thus, and no farther shall my passion stray:The first crime, past, compels us into more,And guilt grows fate, that was but choice, before. Aaron HillAthelwold. Act V. Sc. The Garden.

Soft is the breath of a maidens Yes:Not the light gossamer stirs with less;But never a cable that holds so fastThrough all the battles of wave and blast. HolmesSongs of Many Seasons. Dorothy. II. St. 7.

When late I attempted your pity to move, Why seemed you so deaf to my prayers?Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love Butwhy did you kick me downstairs? J. P. KemblePanel. Act I. Sc. 1. Quoted from Asylum for Fugitive Pieces. Vol. I. P. 15. (1785) where it appeared anonymously. Kemble is credited with its authorship. The Panel is adapted from Bickerstaffs Tis Well Tis No Worse, but these lines are not therein. It may also be found in Annual Register. Appendix. (1783) P. 201.

Whats this dull town to me? Robins not nearHe whom I wished to see, Wished for to hear;Wheres all the joy and mirthMade life a heaven on earth? O! theyre all fled with thee, Robin Adair. Caroline KeppelRobin Adair.

The hawk unto the open sky, The red deer to the wold;The Romany lass for the Romany lad, As in the days of old. Given in the N. Y. Times Review of Books as a previously written poem by F. C. Weatherby. Not found.

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin eastward to the sea,Theres a Burma girl a-settin, and I know she thinks o me;For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay! KiplingMandalay.

If Love were jester at the court of Death, And Death the king of all, still would I pray, For me the motley and the bauble, yea,Though all be vanity, as the Preacher saith,The mirth of love be mine for one brief breath! Frederic L. KnowlesIf Love were Jester at the Court of Death.

Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing Ever made by the Hand aboveA womans heart, and a womans life, And a womans wonderful love? Mary T. Lathrop. A Womans Answer to a Mans Question. Erroneously credited to Mrs. Browning.

I love a lassie, a bonnie, bonnie lassie,Shes as pure as the lily in the dell.Shes as sweet as the heather,The bonnie, bloomin heather,Mary, ma Scotch Blue-bell. Harry Lauder and Gerald Grafton. I Love a Lassie.

A warrior so bold, and a virgin so bright, Conversed as they sat on the green.They gazed on each other with tender delight,Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight The maidens the Fair Imogene. M. G. LewisAlonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene. First appeared in his novel Ambrosio the Monk. Found in his Tales of Wonder. Vol. III. P. 63. Lewiss copy of his poem is in the British Museum.

Ah, how skillful grows the handThat obeyeth Loves command!It is the heart and not the brainThat to the highest doth attain,And he who followeth Loves behestFar excelleth all the rest. LongfellowBuilding of the Ship.

Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse.To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing,As in a foundering ship. LongfellowCourtship of Miles Standish. Pt. III. L. 7.

I do not love thee less for what is done,And cannot be undone. Thy very weaknessHath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforthMy love will have a sense of pity in it,Making it less a worship than before. LongfellowMasque of Pandora. Pt. VIII. In the Garden. L. 39.

That was the first sound in the song of love!Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound.Hands of invisible spirits touch the stringsOf that mysterious instrument, the soul,And play the prelude of our fate. We hearThe voice prophetic, and are not alone. LongfellowSpanish Student. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 109.

How can I tell the signals and the signsBy which one heart another heart divines?How can I tell the many thousand waysBy which it keeps the secret it betrays? LongfellowTales of a Wayside Inn. Pt. III. Students Tale. Emma and Eginhard. L. 75.

So they grew, and they grew, to the church steeple tops And they couldnt grow up any higher;So they twind themselves into a true lovers knot, For all lovers true to admire.Lord Lovel. Old Ballad. History found in Professor Childs English and Scottish Popular Ballads. II. 204. Also in The New Comic Minstrel. Pub. by John Cameron, Glasgow. The original version seems to be as given there.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunneryOf thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly.. . . . . .Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore:I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more. LovelaceTo Lucasta, on going to the Wars. Given erroneously to Montrose by Scott.

Cupid and my Campaspe playdAt cards for kisses; Cupid paid;He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,His mothers doves, and team of sparrows;Loses them too; then down he throwsThe coral of his lip,the roseGrowing on s cheek (but none knows how)With these, the crystal on his brow,And then the dimple of his chin;All these did my Campaspe win.At last he set her both his eyes,She won, and Cupid blind did rise.O Love! hath she done this to thee?What shall, alas! become of me? LylyAlexander and Campaspe. Act III. Sc. VI. Song.

But thou, through good and evil, praise and blame, Wilt not thou love me for myself alone?Yes, thou wilt love me with exceeding love, And I will tenfold all that love repay;Still smiling, though the tender may reprove, Still faithful, though the trusted may betray. MacaulayLines Written July 30, 1847.

This lass so neat, with smile so sweet, Has won my right good will,Id crowns resign to call her mine, Sweet lass of Richmond Hill. Ascribed to Leonard McNally, who married Miss IAnson, one of the claimants for the Lass, by Sir Joseph Barrington in Sketches of His Own Times. Vol. II. P. 47. Also credited to William Upton. It appeared in Public Advertiser, Aug. 3, 1789. Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill erroneously said to have been a sweetheart of King George III.

When Madelon comes out to serve us drinks, We always know shes coming by her song.And every man he tells his little tale, And Madelon, she listens all day long.Our Madelon is never too severeA kiss or two is nothing much to herShe laughs us up to love and life and GodMadelon, Madelon, Madelon.MadelonSong of the French Soldiers in the Great War.

Come live with me, and be my love,And we will all the pleasures prove,That valleys, groves, or hills, or fields,Or woods and steepy mountains, yield. MarloweThe Passionate Shepherd to his Love. St. 1.

Quand on na pas ce que lon aime, il faut aimer ce que lon a. If one does not possess what one loves, one should love what one has. Marmontel. Quoted by Moore in Irish Melodies. The Irish Peasant to His Mistress. Note.

I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.But why I cannot tell;But this I know full well,I do not love thee, Dr. Fell. Paraphrase of Martial by Tom Brown, as given in his Works, ed. by Drake. (1760). Answer to Dean John Fell, of Oxford. IV. 100.

Great men,Till they have gained their ends, are giants inTheir promises, but, those obtained, weak pigmiesIn their performance. And it is a maximAllowed among them, so they may deceive,They may swear anything; for the queen of love,As they hold constantly, does never punish,But smile, at lovers perjuries. MassingerGreat Duke of Florence. Act II. Sc. 3.

Tis well to be merry and wise, Tis well to be honest and true;Tis well to be off with the old love, Before you are on with the new. As used by Maturin, for the motto to Bertram, produced at Drury Lane, 1816.

It is good to be merry and wise,It is good to be honest and true,It is best to be off with the old love,Before you are on with the new. Published in Songs of England and Scotland. London, 1835. Vol. II. P. 73.

Love is all in fire, and yet is ever freezing;Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing:Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying;Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying;Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing;Love indeed is anything, yet indeed is nothing. Thos. MiddletonBlurt, Master Constable. Act II. Sc. 2.

It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit,Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit,That womans love can win, or long inherit;But what it is, hard is to say,Harder to hit.MiltonSamson Agonistes. L. 1,010.

If a man should importune me to give a reason why I loved him, I find it could no otherwise be expressed than by making answer, Because it was he; because it was I. There is beyond all that I am able to say, I know not what inexplicable and fated power that brought on this union. MontaigneEssays. Bk. I. Ch. XXVII.

No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close,As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turnd when he rose. MooreBelieve Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms. St. 2.

A boat at midnight sent alone To drift upon the moonless sea,A lute, whose leading chord is gone, A wounded bird, that hath but oneImperfect wing to soar upon, Are like what I am, without thee. MooreLoves of the Angels. Second Angels Story.

Tell me, whats Love; said Youth, one day,To drooping Age, who crost his way.It is a sunny hour of play;For which repentance dear doth pay; Repentance! Repentance!And this is Love, as wise men say. MooreYouth and Age.

Ive wandered east, Ive wandered west, Ive bourne a weary lot;But in my wanderings far or near Ye never were forgot.The fount that first burst frae this heart Still travels on its wayAnd channels deeper as it rins The luve o lifes young day. Wm. MotherwellJeanie Morrison.

Sic ego nec sine te nec tecum vivere possumEt videor voti nescius esse mei. Thus I am not able to exist either with you or without you; and I seem not to know my own wishes. OvidAmorum. Bk. III. 10. 39.

Let those love now who never lovd before,Let those who always loved now love the more. Thos. ParnellTrans. of the Pervigilium Veneris. Ancient poem. Author unknown. Ascribed to Catullus. See also BurtonAnatomy of Melancholy. Pt. III. Sec. II. Memb. 5. 5.

What thing is love?for (well I wot) love is a thing.It is a prick, it is a sting.It is a pretty, pretty thing;It is a fire, it is a coal,Whose flame creeps in at every hole! George PeeleMiscellaneous Poems. The Hunting of Cupid.

Amor et melle et felle est fcundissimus:Gustu dat dulce, amarum ad satietatem usque aggerit. Love has both its gall and honey in abundance: it has sweetness to the taste, but it presents bitterness also to satiety. PlautusCistellaria. I. 1. 71.

Is it, in Heavn, a crime to love too well?To bear too tender or too firm a heart,To act a lovers or a Romans part?Is there no bright reversion in the skyFor those who greatly think, or bravely die? PopeElegy on an Unfortunate Lady.

If all the world and love were young,And truth in every shepherds tongue,These pretty pleasures might me moveTo live with thee, and be thy love. Sir Walter RaleighThe Nymphs Reply to the Passionate Shepherd.

As one who cons at evening oer an album all alone,And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till in shadowy designI find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. James Whitcomb RileyAn Old Sweetheart of Mine.

Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet? Trust thou thy love: if she be mute, is she not pure?Lay thou thy soul full in her hands, low at her feet Fail, Sun and Breath!yet, for thy peace, she shall endure. RuskinTrust Thou Thy Love.

In peace, Love tunes the shepherds reed;In war, he mounts the warriors steed;In halls, in gay attire is seen;In hamlets, dances on the green.Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,And men below, and saints above;For love is heaven, and heaven is love. ScottLay of the Last Minstrel. Canto III. St. 2.

True loves the gift which God has givenTo man alone beneath the heaven. * * * * *It is the secret sympathy,The silver link, the silken tie,Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,In body and in soul can bind. ScottLay of the Last Minstrel. Canto V. St. 13.

Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates severFrom his true maidens breast, Parted for ever?Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow,Where early violets die, Under the willow. ScottMarmion. Canto III. St. 10.

Qui blandiendo dulce nutrivit malum,Sero recusat ferre, quod subiit, jugum. He who has fostered the sweet poison of love by fondling it, finds it too late to refuse the yoke which he has of his own accord assumed. SenecaHippolytus. CXXXIV.

Good shepherd, tell this youth what tis to love.It is to be all made of sighs and tears; * * * * *It is to be all made of faith and service; * * * * *It is to be all made of fantasy.As You Like It. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 89.

Yet I have not seenSo likely an ambassador of love;A day in April never came so sweet,To show how costly summer was at hand,As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 9. L. 91.

Friendship is constant in all other thingsSave in the office and affairs of love:Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues;Let every eye negotiate for itselfAnd trust no agent.Much Ado About Nothing. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 182.

Upon this hint I spake;She lovd me for the dangers I had passd,And I lovd her, that she did pity them.This only is the witchcraft I have usd:Here comes the lady; let her witness it.Othello. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 166.

Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuateNor set down aught in malice: then must you speakOf one that loved not wisely, but too well;Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought,Perplexed in the extreme: of one, whose handLike the base Indian, threw a pearl away,Richer than all his tribe: of one, whose subdued eyes,Albeit unused to the melting mood,Drop tears as fast as the Arabian treesTheir medicinal gum.Othello. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 383. (Base Indian is base Judean in first folio.)

Love is a smoke raisd with the fume of sighs;Being purgd, a fire sparkling in a lovers eyes;Being vexd, a sea nourishd with lovers tears:What is it else? a madness most discreet,A choking gall and a preserving sweet.Romeo and Juliet. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 196.

Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:And yet no further than a wantons bird;Who lets it hop a little from her hand,Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,And with a silk thread plucks it back again,So loving-jealous of his liberty.Romeo and Juliet. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 177.

Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,Take him, and cut him out in little stars,And he will make the face of heaven so fine,And all the world will be in love with night,And pay no worship to the garish sun.Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 21.

She never told her love,But let concealment, like a worm i the bud,Feed on her damask cheek; she pind in thought,And with a green and yellow melancholyShe sat like patience on a monument,Smiling at grief.Twelfth Night. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 114.

And writers say, as the most forward budIs eaten by the canker ere it blow,Even so by love the young and tender witIs turnd to folly, blasting in the bud,Losing his verdure even in the prime.Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 45.

When you loved me I gave you the whole sun and stars to play with. I gave you eternity in a single moment, strength of the mountains in one clasp of your arms, the volume of all the seas in one impulse of your soul. A moment only; but was it not enough? Were you not paid then for all the rest of your struggle on earth? When I opened the gates of paradise, were you blind? Was it nothing to you? When all the stars sang in your ears and all the winds swept you the heart of heaven, were you deaf? were you dull? was I no more to you than a bone to a dog? Was it not enough? We spent eternity together; and you ask me for a little lifetime more. We possessed all the universe together; and you ask me to give you my scanty wages as well. I have given you the greatest of all things; and you ask me to give you little things. I gave you your own soul: you ask me for my body as a plaything. Was it not enough? Was it not enough? Bernard ShawGetting Married.

Yet all love is sweetGiven or returned. Common as light is love,And its familiar voice wearies not ever * * * * *They who inspire it most are fortunate,As I am now: but those who feel it mostAre happier still after long sufferingsAs I shall soon become. ShelleyPrometheus Unbound. Act II. Sc. 5.

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange, one for the other given;I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven. Sir Philip SidneyMy True Love Hath my Heart.

They sin who tell us Love can die:With life all other passions fly,All others are but vanity,In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell. SoutheyCurse of Kehama. Mount Meru. St. 10.

Sweetheart, when you walk my way,Be it dark or be it day;Dreary winter, fairy May, I shall know and greet you.For each day of grief or graceBrings you nearer my embrace;Love hath fashioned your dear face, I shall know you when I meet you. Frank L. StantonGreeting.

To love her was a liberal education. SteeleOf Lady Elizabeth Hastings. In The Tatler. No. 49. Augustine Birrell in Obiter Dicta calls this the most magnificent compliment ever paid by man to a woman.

I who all the Winter through, Cherished other loves than youAnd kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew; Now I know the false and true, For the earnest sun looks through,And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew. Stevenson. Poem written 1876.

Just like Love is yonder rose,Heavenly fragrance round it throws,Yet tears its dewy leaves disclose,And in the midst of briars it blows Just like Love. Viscount StrangfordJust like Love. Trans. of Poems of Camoens.

O Love, O great god Love, what have I done,That thou shouldst hunger so after my death?My heart is harmless as my lifes first day:Seek out some false fair woman, and plague herTill her tears even as my tears fill her bed. SwinburneThe Complaint of Lisa.

I that have love and no more Give you but love of you, sweet; He that hath more, let him give;He that hath wings, let him soar; Mine is the heart at your feet Here, that must love you to live. SwinburneThe Oblation.

Tum, ut adsolet in amore et ira, jurgia, preces, exprobrutio, satisfactio. Then there is the usual scene when lovers are excited with each other, quarrels, entreaties, reproaches, and then fondling reconcilement. TacitusAnnales. XIII. 44.

Loves arms were wreathed about the neck of Hope,And Hope kissd Love, and Love drew in her breathIn that close kiss and drank her whisperd tales.They said that Love would die when Hope was gone.And Love mournd long, and sorrowd after Hope;At last she sought out Memory, and they trodThe same old paths where Love had walked with Hope,And Memory fed the soul of Love with tears. TennysonLovers Tale. L. 815.

There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate.She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate;The red rose cries, She is near, she is near; And the white rose weeps, She is late;The larkspur listens, I hear; I hear; And the lily whispers, I wait. TennysonMaud. Pt. XXII. St. 10.

She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread,My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthly bed;My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead;Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red. TennysonMaud. Pt. XXII. St. 11.

Like to a wind-blown sapling grow I fromThe cliff, Sweet, of your skyward-jetting soul,Shook by all gusts that sweep it, overcomeBy all its clouds incumbent; O be trueTo your soul, dearest, as my life to you!For if that soil grow sterile, then the wholeOf me must shrivel, from the topmost shootOf climbing poesy, and my life, killed through,Dry down and perish to the foodless root. Francis ThompsonManus Animam Pinxit.

Nec jurare time; Veneris perjuria ventiIrrita per terras et freta summa ferunt,Gratia magna Jovi; vetuit pater ipse valere,Jurasset cupide quicquid ineptus amor. Fear not to swear; the winds carry the perjuries of lovers without effect over land and sea, thanks to Jupiter. The father of the gods himself has denied effect to what foolish lovers in their eagerness have sworn. TibullusCarmina. I. 4. 21.

The warrior for the True, the Right, Fights in Loves name;The love that lures thee from that fight Lures thee to shame:That love which lifts the heart, yet leaves The spirit free,That love, or none, is fit for one Man-shaped like thee. Aubrey Thos. De VereMiscellaneous Poems. Song.

And the King with his golden sceptre, The Pope with Saint Peters key,Can never unlock the one little heart That is opened only to me.For I am the Lord of a Realm, And I am Pope of a See;Indeed Im supreme in the kingdom That is sitting, just now, on my knee. C. H. WebbThe King and the Pope.

Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for fliesYour milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies!You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear,And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer. N. P. WillisLow in a Cottage. St. 3.

He loves not well whose love is bold! I would not have thee come too nigh.The suns gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky:To take him thence and chain him nearWould make his beauty disappear. William WinterLoves Queen.

For mightier farThan strength of nerve or sinew, or the swayOf magic potent over sun and star,Is love, though oft to agony distrest,And though his favourite be feeble womans breast.WordsworthLaodamia. St. 15.